I'm a Modern Man by George Carlin.

Ah! What a self-intro!

“I’m a modern man, a man for the millennium. Digital and smoke free. A diversified multi-cultural, post-modern deconstruction that is anatomically and ecologically incorrect. 

I’ve been up linked and downloaded, I’ve been inputted and outsourced, I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a high-tech low-life. A cutting edge, state-of-the-art bi-coastal multi-tasker and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond! 

I’m new wave, but I’m old school and my inner child is outward bound. I’m a hot-wired, heat seeking, warm-hearted cool customer, voice activated and bio-degradable. I interface with my database, my database is in cyberspace, so I’m interactive, I’m hyperactive and from time to time I’m radioactive.

Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, ridin the wave, dodgin the bullet and pushin the envelope. I’m on-point, on-task, on-message and off drugs. I’ve got no need for coke and speed. I’ve got no urge to binge and purge. I’m in-the-moment, on-the-edge, over-the-top and under-the-radar. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom feeder. 

I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps and run victory laps. I’m a totally ongoing big-foot, slam-dunk, rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic. A working rageaholic. Out of rehab and in denial! 

I’ve got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant and a personal agenda. You can’t shut me up. You can’t dumb me down because I’m tireless and I’m wireless, I’m an alpha male on beta-blockers. I’m a non-believer and an over-achiever, laid-back but fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home, low-rent, high-maintenance. Super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built-to-last! 

I’m a hands-on, foot-loose, knee-jerk head case pretty maturely post-traumatic and I’ve got a love-child that sends me hate mail. But, I’m feeling, I’m caring, I’m healing, I’m sharing– a supportive, bonding, nurturing primary care-giver. 

My output is down, but my income is up. I took a short position on the long bond and my revenue stream has its own cash-flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds and I watch trash sports! I’m gender specific, capital intensive, user-friendly and lactose intolerant. 

I like rough sex. I like tough love. I use the “F” word in my emails and the software on my hard-drive is hardcore–no soft porn. I bought a microwave at a mini-mall; I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast-food in the slow lane. I’m toll-free, bite-sized, ready-to-wear and I come in all sizes. A fully-equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically- formulated medical miracle. 

I’ve been pre-wash, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped, vacuum-packed and, I have an unlimited broadband capacity. I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal. Lean and mean! 

Cocked, locked and ready-to-rock. Rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow, I ride with the tide. I’ve got glide in my stride. Drivin’ and movin’, sailin’ and spinin’, jiving and groovin’, wailin’ and winnin’. I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty and lunch time is crunch time. I’m hangin’ in, there ain’t no doubt and I’m hangin’ tough, over and out!”

Charged with...wait for it...

Yes, I confess. I'm guilty. Of procrastination. Of spending several days thinking and planning what needed to be done yesterday, only to put it off for tomorrow. Of taking matters in my own hands, and then conveniently sweeping it under the carpet when nobody's watching, only hoping to miraculously pull it out later, along with the rug that the very same people were standing on. I plead guilty of all this and more.  I could of course present the end that could justify my means in this very sentence. But then I think I’ll save that for later. In the last paragraph of this hearing, which I’ll be able to write the first thing tomorrow morning. After I’ve slept over it. Perhaps.

You see, I don’t intentionally delay my actions by a day at the very least. It’s just that I was born that way. A full fifteen minutes later than scheduled. And that was because the doctor on duty was delayed by a train he missed. Only because the man at the counter insisted on tendering exact change. Which the good doctor had to produce only after a detailed excavation of his briefcase. One should never rush in the matters of such financial transactions after all.

Now you’d say 15 minutes is hardly a delay. What it did to my life however was cascade it into a ledger full of backlogs. I learned to talk at least 15 days later, joined kindergarten at least 15 months later, learnt to cycle at least 15 years later, and learned to ask a girl at least 15 lifetimes later.( I once had asked a nice girl out on a date, but only went to pick her up on the wrong date.)

This handicap of mine also seems to rub off on people I deal with. The newspaper reaches 20 minutes after I get out of the pot. The maid walks in one hour after I’ve done the dishes. The paycheck gets credited one week after I’m broke.

But let me assure you. It’s not that I while away hours, waiting to finish any job long after it is due. I’m just incradibly busy trying to ride an ocean of tasks that were previously shelved. But about a month back, I had an awakening of sorts. I decided to do something about this, and went and picked up the first tome I could find on time management. I took some time out to read and implement these changes into my life. The book on effective time management took me more time to read thank I had imagined - 23 days. Which is why, I was forced to write this piece a full month after I first thought of it.

I know I should not end any blog post abruptly. But honestly, would you care to spend any more time reading a piece like this? With this responsibility in mind, I rest my case.